


Thy sister's naught

by gealach



Series: Tainted flesh, filthy soul [2]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Blood licking, F/M, Homophobic Language, Knifeplay, Masochism, Masturbation, Sadism, Sibling Incest, alluded penetration with sharp object, discussions of parricide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shadow Stalker only wanted a kiss. She only wanted Daken for herself. And of course, she wanted to kill her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy sister's naught

I.

Boring job, boring clients. They went to her for the thrill of it, and then went back home to their wives, to their little sad lives. Sweaty middle-aged white-collars. Fuck and pay, in and out. Boring, boring, boring. She wanted more, she wanted life.

What could she have? Just another orphan in the streets, grown up on the streets, living in the streets, working in an apartment with others like her.

Blood on her. She liked to stuck her nails in these sad little men, but not everybody appreciated the effort she took to at least appear to be partecipating. They preferred loud moans and reassurances – so big, so strong, yes, yes you're _so_ good – Males. Men were stupid. She licked from her nails the blood she had drawn from the last client and went to collect another sad little man who had asked explicitly for her.

He was hot; there was no other word she could use. Well-shaped and tall and neatly brushed, so out of place in her barely-lit room like a diamond among tons of shit. She suddenly felt self-conscious, and sneered at him, patting on her bed. “Well come on, sweetheart. You pay me for my time.”

There was a moment when he just looked at her, his eyes so cold she thought he was a serial killer – _oh, wow, exciting, I'll be in the newspapers tomorrow_ – and then they narrowed so slightly looking at her hand on the bed and then her lips. Shit, had he seen the blood?

He smiled like a shark.

 

II.

So she had a father – because of course her mother hadn't just fucked the Holy Spirit – who was alive and enjoying life while she was here selling her body to sad little men; and she had a brother, currently standing in front of her.

“Ok,” she shrugged. “So are you gonna fuck me? My time isn't for _free_.”

He smirked. “Oh, I _like_ you.”

“Nice. Fuck me or go away.” She spread her legs on the bed. “Some of us need _money_.” She seethed at his clothing. Damn, she wasn't an expert, but it all looked very expensive.

He was suddenly close to her, so very close, and bent down on her face, a hand on the wall, the other on the bed. She was trapped and her breath hitched. “Oh, I won't fuck you, little sister,” he said, and his lips looked so soft and his eyes so cruel. “That would be _crossing a line_.” His lips curled as if laughing at something only he could find funny. “But I would be willing to pay you for other services.” She leaned towards him for a kiss and he was distant again, the air in front of her still warm from his presence. “I'll be in touch,” he blew her a kiss from his fingertips, and he was gone, the door already closed behind him.

“You fucker, you have to pay me!” She called after him and hoisted herself from the bed, her hands coming to touch –

Cash. So much, so much cash on her covers.

 

III.

Blood. Blood, blood, blood.

Daken was the perfect canvas, you just had to wait a little bit and he was perfect again, skin smooth as if he hadn't been touched. He had the most perfect body and cut through it was so simple, so fucking erotic. She loved him. He had taken her away from that hole she worked in and brought her to a nice apartment and given her so many knives and told her to do whatever _she_ wanted; and he would come every now and then and he would just _lay_ there when she worked on him, and he would even _pay_ her. And yes, she was his sister, but she couldn't ignore the bulge in his pants – because hell, this was way more intimate than sex, but he was so proper and _always_ kept his pants on – no more than she could ignore the wetness between her thighs when she cut and he moaned. When she licked his blood he would stir and when she run her nails on his chest he would writhe but he never touched her and he was her fucking _soulmate_. She loved him for taking her away from that shitty place and giving her the means to feel so alive.

The blood was so sweet on her tongue.

 

IV.

“My sweet sister, stalking in the shadows,” he said as he undressed, and then he stopped, seeing her face. “What happened?”

“I saw him.” She gritted her teeth and closed her hands in fists, nails stuck in her palms. “I fucking saw him and he didn't even _stop_.”

Daken was just _watching_ her, as if she were an insect, and she snapped, “I want him dead!”

“ _Do_ you,” Daken didn't miss a beat, and smirked. “He's not so easy to kill.”

“I'll kill him or I'll die trying,” she snarled, and his eyebrows cocked up, smirk still in place.

“Ah, well, perhaps your prayers will be heard.” He lay on the bed. “Come here, sweetheart. Release some of that stress.”

She grabbed her knives and went down on him like a fury, how _dared_ he make that sneering face, how _dared_ he mock her, their father had abandoned her in a shithole, had never even searched for her, and here Daken lay, just so meek and compliant, fucking weak, shivering and writhing and moaning and so fucking gorgeous, chest painted red, so red, so red – she licked and licked and licked and went up and kissed him, biting his lips, and his hands were on her shoulders suddenly, pushing her away.

“No,” he said, and there was ice in his voice, but she had never been one for caution.

“No?” She smiled down at him, and reached down and grabbed his cock, feeling it hard through the fabric of his trousers. “Ohhh, this seems a _yes_.” She stroked it as she lowered herself, “Fuck me,” she whispered, and the ice in those eyes was terrifying and beautiful.

“ _No_.”

“So you're a weakling after all, mh, who would have thought.” She squeezed hard and he pushed into her hand, but:

“I said _no_ ,” he growled, and their positions were switched suddenly, her wrists pinned to the mattress. _That's more like it._ She laughed, arching agaisnt him.

“I think we're already past the _things siblings can't do_ , _sweetheart,_ ” she sneered.

“I think you're forgetting who's in _control_ here, sweetheart,” he retorted, and she felt so dry it itched, as if she had some fungus or something, every nerve in her body screaming _go away, go away, danger, go away_.

“What the _fuck_ ,” she yelped, and he was suddenly not above her anymore; now he was on his knees on the bed, the picture of composure, but his pupils were blown and he _was_ turned on, why the _hell_ didn't he want to fuck her?

“I told you, dear sister,” he said slowly, “that fucking you would have been crossing a line. I'm not doing that. But,” he cocked his head to the side, “if you want to, _you_ can fuck _me_.”

 _Oh God._ She burned with desire. _Oh, fuck, God_. Daken writhing beneath her, _yes_ , Daken screaming for more, _yes_ , Daken screaming her name _yes, yes, yes_ , but –

“I don't have strap-ons. Wait, wait, maybe a dildo?” But no, she had no dildo either, her clients weren't into that, what could she do, oh God, _oh God_ , she _needed_ to fuck him. What had she in the fridge? Were there vegetables? Ah, _yes_ , as if she maintained a healthy diet. “I could run down to the sex shop and grab something real quick, have you a size preference, color, shape,” he grabbed her by her shoulders and she stopped talking abruptly, hypnothised by the softening of his features.

“You're so oddly endearing,” he said, and she bit her lower lip. She wanted to see his blood. “You have what you need here.” His hands left her shoulders.

“I don't –”

He raised a hand, holding a knife.

“Oh. With the handle?” She looked at it. It was her sharpest: she would have needed to wrap something around the blade to have a good grasp at it without hurting herself, but it could have worked just fine.

“Oh, sweet sister, I wouldn't have you accidentally cutting your clever hands.” Daken caught her hand and had her wrap her fingers around the handle. She inhaled sharply, his meaning clear, and he just looked at her. “It's your decision, darling.”

The blood, she thought. Oh, the blood –

“Take off your clothes,” she snapped, voice strangled, and he obeyed and –

oh, it was _glorious_.

 

V.

“You fucking _bastard_ ,” she screamed, and slapped him hard across his face, and then again, and again. When her hands hurt she stopped and he said:

“Are you finished?”

She screamed again, in frustation and loathing. She wanted to kill that other bastard, the one who got to touch Daken so tenderly.

They were in this fucking mansion in the middle of nowhere and she had a sister and other three brothers.

They were going to kill their father, make him pay for what he had done to them, but the anticipation of that wasn't enought to wipe away her rage. Couldn't be enough.

“You fucking – you _fuck_ him!” She screamed, and hit him again, hard, on the chest. “I saw how he looks at you, how you look at him, you fuck, you _fuck,_ you _kissed him!_ ”

“What of it?” He said calmly. Her fists didn't hurt him, only her knives could.

“You said it would have been crossing a line, I thought that was because,” she stopped, the image of his body drowning in blood and entrails burned in her underlids, “I thought it was because I was your sister!”

“Ah, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he smirked, and he knew she couldn't read, the bastard, but she wasn't so stupid as not to recognise a quote when she heard it. She screamed again.

“You were grinding your ass against him like a _whore!_ ”

He laughed. “Coming _from_ a whore, that's not the insult you want it to be. Besides,” he raised a hand to cup her face, “Tell me something I don't already know, sweetheart.”

“You _deviant_ ,” she spat.

He snorted, “This from the one who wants her brother to _fuck_ her. Do you see the double standard?”

“At least it's more _natural_ ,” she snarled, and he furrowed his brows and then he smiled, all teeth.

“Oh, this is priceless. And why, pray tell, would that be more natural?”

“I'm a _woman_ ,” she sneered, and his hand left her chin.

“I had hoped you wouldn't say something that stupid.” He shook his head. “I hadn't taken you for a prude.”

“It's unnatural,” she hissed. “ _That's_ why you don't want to fuck me, you're a filthy faggot, and I _touched_ you –” she shivered.

Daken laughed. “The world's as big as your worldview's narrow. I'm not gay, sister dear. I'm past that kind of identification. I'm all-encompassing. I don't _care_ , it's just flesh and what can I _gain_ from that flesh. Why don't I fuck you?” His head lowered suddenly, so close to her face they could almost kiss, but he had never kissed her and she didn't even try to. “Maybe you already provide me with what I most need.”

 

VI.

The pleading and trashing from the living room had stopped, so she risked a quick glance out of her door and saw her brothers and her sister do the same.

They had a clear view of Bill coming up the stairs to his room, bruised and covered in blood, and she was satisfied at the thought Daken had hit him. _Ah, the fall from grace_ , she thought.

Bill disappeared in his room and she was thinking of going downstairs to see Daken when –

– when a zombie went up the stairs, hallucinated, pale, eyes empty. He didn't even spare a glance for them and went inside Bill's room. When the door closed she realised she had been holding her breath. She exchanged a glance with the others, who were as shocked as her, but none of them moved.

She had never seen him like this. It was horrifying.

And Bill, the bastard, got to comfort him in this time of need? _She_ was the one who provided him with what he most needed, not the fucking _cowboy!_ She retreated to her room, slamming her door. What did Daken find in Bill? He was _old_ , wrinkled, weak. The thought of that rotting flesh getting near Daken's perfect skin was horrid, the thought of a wrinkled cock inside Daken was disgusting, the mere idea made her want to retch. He had monopolised Daken, since when they were all here Daken had began to decrease his visits, and when he showed up he wanted to see Bill. William, William, William. If she had known for a certainty that she would have gotten away with it, she would have murdered Bill.

But Daken would have killed her if she had.

Every now and then he came to her, yes. She was his safe haven, only she knew how he craved her knives, he _trusted_ her –

When the screaming from Bill's room began, she saw red. Daken's screams were _hers. Those_ screams were hers.

And then Daken screamed Bill's _name_ , the way he had never screamed hers. That wasn't right! Daken's blood was hers to taste, what was Bill doing? He was taking Daken away from her! She opened her door again, seething, and heard the pounding. They were fucking. She stood in her doorway, clutching at the wood, her hand going down to touch herself at the same tempo. She imagined Daken covered in blood, hips moving, letting her climb upon him, finally giving in and fucking her, maybe even kissing her –

Now they were fighting, in hushed, strained voices, but they _were_ , and the sound was so sweet she came.

Daken went out of the room just as she retreated her slick fingers from herself, glorious in his nakedness, and he slammed the door shut. He turned and saw her and there was a savage light in his eyes; he was covered in blood, an ugly scar running in his right forearm, and she ached with need –

Other doors opened, because of course everyone here was so damn concerned with others' business. Cannon Foot was scrubbing his head.

“Are you all right?” He asked.

Daken's features softened. “Of course, dearest. Don't worry.”

The dynamic duo stood on the other doorway and Daken just took a look at them and laughed. “You two are _fucking?_ ”

Jorge shrugged and Mariann tilted her head, “What, like it's your prerogative?”

“Ah, no.” It was glorious how he wasn't even pretending to cover himself. “I was just thinking that this place's like an interbreeding facility. Someone should fuck big guy here before he gets lonely.”

“I'm fine.” Oh, the unnatural freak. She rolled her eyes.

“Of course you are.” She hated the soft look Daken got when he talked to Cannon Foot, hated the softening of his voice. “Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm fine,” the freak repeated.

Daken crossed his arms. “William was just telling me that you're ready. It's time: tomorrow I'll bring you to the Red Right Hand.”

Oh, _finally._ It was finally time for them to collect their due, time for them to murder the bastard.

The others retreated to their rooms, but not her; she stayed on her doorway, because she knew what Daken needed. She, and only she.

“Do you want to come in?” She said. She felt viciously happy at the thought Bill had angered him and he wouldn't have spent the night with him. She felt happy that she could finally taste her father's blood and maybe even manage to kill him. She wanted to celebrate. And her idea of celebration and what Daken needed right now, fortunately, coincided. Wasn't she lucky to have such a brother?

“You can't handle me tonight,” he said quietly.

“Oh, nonsense,” she snapped. “Shadow Stalker knows what you need, sweetheart. Come here.”

He smirked. “Shadow Stalker, mh? I like it.”

She went inside, and he followed, and she provided him with what he most needed.

 

VII.

Oh, look at him, the bastard. An old, tired man, a sad little man like many others, like all the men she'd had.

As she hit him with her spiked balls, his sweet blood spraying everywhere, spraying on her lips, she begged him to kiss her. Just a kiss, just a kiss to kiss her goodnight, like the father he had never been. She offered him a moment of pleasure amidst the suffering in return, but he didn't heed her, biting her like the animal he was. Oh, he was pulling her hair. She loved it when Daken pulled her hair –

He had ripped her hair out, the _bastard_ , and she kicked him into the sanctuary, wanting to finish him amidst mementos of all the damage he had one.

“You know, they bill you as the best there is at what you do. I hate to break it to you, but I've had better.”

 _I've had Daken._ She licked her father's blood off her lips, oh it was so sweet, but sweeter still would have been his pained screams, and –

oh, he was stabbing her. Oh, oh, the sweet pain, so sweet, so so sweet, her blood gurgling up her throat, her blood in her mouth, she tasted it, it was so sweet –

Daken had never kissed her, either.

 

 


End file.
